Ralon of Malven AKA: Claw
by dragonelemental
Summary: I always felt that claw should have been Alanna’s fight as they were enemies since first sight. What would the outcome have been if this were so? What if George was unable to kill Claw? He beat Claw but Claw got away; this is set after ‘Lioness Rampant’.
1. Default Chapter

_**Ralon of Malven. AKA: Claw**_

I always felt that claw should have been Alanna's fight as they were enemies since first sight. What would the outcome have been if this were so? What if George was unable to kill Claw? He beat Claw but Claw got away; this is set after 'Lioness Rampant'.

Alanna was laid on her back surveying the night sky, the sand warm beneath her back, her eyes following the constellation of stars that many called 'The Cat'. _Faithful_ she thought with a sharp pang of grief, _I hope you're all right out there._ The coronation had been months ago but she was still feeling the aftermath of that night. Despite her love for George, she missed the burly Liam, his final words had eaten into her painfully; _'Kitten, Knowing you, you think it's your fault I got killed when I did. You're thinking if you hadn't dragged me along… Forget it.' _She couldn't forget it; he knew her better than she had thought and the guilt was something she just couldn't let go of. Unwanted tears sprang to her eyes, as she thought of all of the lives of her loved ones that she had cost: Si-cham, Thom, Faithful, Liam; four great people gone because of her. If she hadn't asked Thom to watch over Jon, if she had just taken hold of her responsibilities and done her job… and Si-cham, he was only there because she had sent for him. If she hadn't asked him to come then he would still be alive today. These days's Alanna felt naked without Faithful's soft body curled around her neck.

Soft steps came from her left, disturbing the sand as George sat beside her. He touched a tender finger to a tear rolling down her cheek and sighed, "You've gotta stop beatin' yourself up over this, lass."

Alanna shifted her position so that her head laid in his lap and she could look up into his hazel eyes, "George, you know I can't just _forget_." She wiped away her tears disgustedly.

"I didn't say forget." He told her, fondly stroking her copper tresses, grown long again and slightly sun streaked. "You need to find a way of acceptin' it though; to get on with you're life. To get on with our life."

"D'you remember Faithful?"

"Alanna." He pulled her up to a sitting position and lightly shook her by the shoulders, "You've gotta listen to me." Her violet eyes wandered over the bare sand beside them, unable to meet his own eyes. "Alanna I've asked for Jon to give you some kind of job; a mission." Her eyes found his. "It should help you get you're mind away from all of this…" he struggled for the right word, "this mess." He finished. "They're all worried for you over there; Gary, Raoul, Jon, Thayet, hell even Buri was gonna ride here to snap you out of it herself. Alanna?"

"What's the mission?" she rasped, her small body slightly stiff and her feeling of guilt intensifying at this new information.

George hesitated before saying anything, "I told Jon that you probably wouldn't be interested in it; too many memories-"

"George."

He sighed, "It's Ralon of Malven."

She nodded in understanding.

"He got away Coronation night and he's at large in Scanra right now: they hate him just as much as we did and they've failed to catch him. Jon's persuaded them to let you into the country to get him, and you're to bring him back to Corus for execution." George watched her expectantly

"I'll do it." She said finally and simply.

"When?"

"It'll be good for me." She told herself. "Tomorrow morning I'll go." She told George getting to her feet and shaking sand grains from her burnoose. George climbed to his feet beside her, nodding faintly. "Come on, you can fill me in on all of the details. Then we can get started on 'our life'" She added with an impish grin.

"And what can I do but oblige?" He asked rhetorically, following her to their tent.


	2. Scanra

"Any idea how long it'll take you?" George asked securing a saddlebag to Moonlight's load.

"A month, maybe two. I don't know, it depends on how sociable he's feeling; it might take me that long just to find him." Alanna shoved a dagger into the outer side of her riding boot and adjusted her scabbard and sword, then walked over to George entwining her fingers with his. Unexpectedly he pulled her to him and caught her lips in a passionate kiss, the effect of which causing her to resemble a slightly limp noodle. "What are you going to do while I'm away?" She asked playing with the rings on his hands.

"Oh, I won't be bored. Jon's made sure o' that. I'll be in Tyra. I'm to see what they think of what's happenin' in Tortall. Jon's afraid some people will take his coronation bein' sabotaged as a message of weakness; he's just paranoid."

"Well at least you won't be bored."

He gave her a final firm kiss on the lips before releasing her.

She climbed onto Moonlight in one fluid motion and kicked her into a gallop; "See you soon!" She called back.

"Happy huntin'" he called after her.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The ride was short; Moonlight was a good horse, rarely tiring and Alanna had a tumult of thoughts plaguing her head. Immersed in her memories she barely noticed as the land steadily became less sandy and barren and the temperature began to drop raising goosebumps on her bare arms. The first sign's of normal land being a forest of brambles that led onto several tufts of grass and pathetic tree's dotted here and there, Alanna made fast progress and was soon approaching the border of Scanra. There were now fields of grass for Moonlight to graze and forests of trees framing the dusty road she was on, _how long have I been out of the desert?_ She thought, as she readied her small campsite a little way into the woods on the left of the road and grudgingly substituted her desert attire for warmer more practical clothes. She fell asleep under 'The Cat', feeling more safe under it's twinkling watchful eyes than in the secluded world within her tent. Her routine remained this way for the several nights she spent during the ride to the Scanran border. She was unsure whether she was disgruntled or relieved that it went without mishap –as George would say- or without incident.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Stop!" The guardsman surveyed her telltale Tortallan features then accused, "You're not Scanran." His accent was rough and southern; hard to understand, "What business do you have in these parts?"

"I'm here to bring a Tortallan scoundrel back for execution, I've had permission. My name is Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, King Jonathon of Tortall sends me to help your King rid his country of the thief and rapist Claw." She recited tiredly.

"_Right_," he said sarcastically, his gaze wandering to her chest, "**_Sir_** Alanna of Trebond and Olau, whatever you say Miss." He made no move to let her by.

"Okay," she said with a forced fake smile, "I've been riding for five days, me and my horse are tired," she pulled her sword from its sheath sweeping it around to threateningly rest at the guardsman's vulnerable neck. "You're going to let me past, you're going to direct me in a very polite and genuine manner to the nearest inn and then you're going to apologise for being a male chauvinistic pig."

"Brinar!" He yelled, his voice wavering with unease at the position of Alanna's sword.

A young man stumbled out of a small hut; he looked as though he had just woken up. He dragged his sword at his side brandishing his fist as he ran up to them, then as a second thought pointed his sword at Alanna with thin shaking arms from ten paces distance. "Drop the sword!"

"Are you kidding me?" Alanna asked her hostage in disbelief, "You're asking _this_ idiot to save you?" Moonlight whinnied as though in agreement; "No wonder you people couldn't catch Claw."

"Oh." The young man said stupidly. "You're Alanna of Tortall?"

"_Finally._"

"We got a message that you were coming. You can pass."

"Why the hell didn't I get the message!" the guardsman yelled at his young companion when Alanna had withdrawn her sword from it's threatening position and had sheathed it once again.

"Excuse me?" she interrupted. The guardsman looked at her immediately not desiring to test her patience any more than her temper. She looked directly at him, "You were going to tell me something?"

"Uh…" he scratched his head then his face lit up in triumphant remembrance, "The nearest inn is the Hogswallow Inn, just follow this road, it's on the right; you can't miss it."

"And…?"

"And… I apologise for being difficult."

"And for being a chauvinistic pig." She said dangerously.

"And for being a chauvinistic pig." He repeated in a submissive tone.

"Good." She smiled.

Feeling better, Alanna trotted past the two men who resumed their squabbling and headed down the road toward Hogswash Inn, her skin tingling at the anticipation of a hot bath.


End file.
